


"A Lucky Dude"

by Plastron



Series: Donatello Darkfics [1]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 1987), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Angst, Dissociation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Gaslighting, Guilt and manipulation, Internalized Homophobia, Minor Violence, Molestation, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Object Insertion, Oral Sex, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Assault, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:08:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26657146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plastron/pseuds/Plastron
Summary: HEED THE WARNINGS, PLEASE!(Set in 1987 TMNT show)Donatello's escape has always been April's nice, clean apartment. He loves the fresh smell of lavender, feeling needed and appreciated, and feeling, for once, like he is... special.Until one night.
Relationships: Donatello/April O'Neil (TMNT)
Series: Donatello Darkfics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939588
Comments: 21
Kudos: 45





	1. Just for Him

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This depicts very unpleasant, abusive things and the sexual abuse and assault of a minor by an adult. I shouldn’t have to say this, but given the environment online lately...I do not condone any of these things in real life. 
> 
> This is presented as a fictional story and in NO way implies this is okay, nor does this story claim any "proper" portrayal of sexual abuse, rape, power-dynamics, or psychological issues resulting from those traumatic events. 
> 
> In this story, Donatello is specifically mentioned to be 16 years old, and April is 25-28.
> 
> Disclaimer II: I DO NOT HATE APRIL, nor do I hate Apritello as a pairing. Please don't take this as an April-bashing fic, or some twisted way of dissing the Apritello pairing. In this fic, I think of April as representing a trusted older adult who does some very dark things; she does not and is not intended to represent her gender, etc.

Donatello liked spending time at April’s place. It was nice to get away from the sewers every once in a while, and from the…less than preferable social dynamics that occasionally settled into place there. He kept things to himself for the most part, but over time, being the butt of everyone’s jokes and feeling unappreciated was enough to make him question whether he enjoyed being a teenage mutant ninja turtle. He was, after all, the only one who’d ever said he wondered what it’d be like being a plain old turtle, and of course his spoken musings earned him ridicule from the others.

So here he was, happily doing little odd jobs for April. Wonderful, kind, mature April. On more than one occasion, he’d been accused of having a crush on her, but Don knew it wasn’t like that. He adored April, but as an older sister. She was in her mid-20’s, and the other boys loved drooling over her. Sometimes Don wondered if April enjoyed the attention from them, even if they were turtles.

“Oh, I almost forgot! Irma was over the other night, and we had a pretty bad accident with the microwave. Do you think you could—“

“I’ll see what I can do!” Don replied, already knowing what she would ask, and chipper as ever. 

April smiled at him, towel wrapped around her hair. “Thanks, Donatello. I knew I could count on you.” 

She gave him that smile that immediately made Donatello feel giddy. He felt his heart flutter as she dipped back into her room, her humming audible in the living room of her small Manhattan apartment for a few moments before it was drowned out by the sound of her hair dryer. 

He set the stereo back on the entertainment shelf, picking up his tools and placing them in his tool belt before he moved onto the kitchen. 

Her apartment made him wonder exactly how blind to his own scent he’d grown over the years… it smelled of lavender and—some kind of floral perfume. He sniffed the air, sighing quietly with contentment as he walked past the oven and fridge. Her kitchen floor was spotless, and cool, smooth linoleum. Not at all like the sludgy, worn, damp clay and brick floor of their lair.  
Don paused before he reached the microwave, blushing as he looked at the underside of one of his feet. His feet were filthy! He wondered if he should surprise April by mopping the kitchen floor for her. He hoped he didn’t leave dirt all over her nice apartment… 

He unscrewed the back of the microwave, setting it down gently on April’s kitchen counter. _The others wouldn’t care about keeping April’s apartment clean,_ Don thought. _The others aren’t considerate like I am._

“I wonder if April notices that I’m more polite than them…” Don wondered. “Maybe that’s why she invites ME over more often.” 

He got lost in his thoughts, imagining April offering him the small bed in the guest bedroom permanently… maybe she’d even let him work there with his own little home office, away from flying projectiles and Michelangelo hogging the pizza and Raphael’s demeaning remarks, and Leonardo’s criticisms and the constant demands of training and—

“Ouch!” Don pinched his finger as he tried to place the new fuses. Two pieces of unfinished metal had cut him on his forefinger. He sucked on his finger, irritated at himself for losing focus on what he knew would be an easy job for him. 

“You okay?” April peered out from her room, her hair styled. 

“Oh, uh, yeah, I’m fine… I just nicked myself, that’s all.” Don explained, a bit embarrassed. He’d helped rescue April and his brothers from numerous deadly situations on a near-daily basis, and here he was getting injured by a home appliance. 

“Aw… lemme see.” April was still in her robe, but Don could smell her perfume as she walked closer, leaning over him and taking his hand in hers. “Your poor little finger! Donatello, you should let me clean that cut and put a band-aid on it.”

“Little finger”? Donatello felt kind of funny. He was 16, after all! April didn’t need to treat him like a little kid. 

She lead him to the kitchen sink, and ran water over his cut, then washed it with soap. He dried his hand on the towel nearby as April rummaged through her cabinets. 

“Ah! Here we go.” She gently placed a band-aid on his green finger, then planted a quick kiss to the bandage. “Mwah! Good as new.”

Don blushed. He wasn’t sure what to think of her kissing him like that, though she and Irma had kissed him on the cheek before. Somehow, this felt…more intimate? No, maybe it was just something humans did. They were always smooching each other on TV. Don was glad that Raphael wasn’t there to make a sarcastic remark and make his embarrassment worse. 

“Uhh, thanks, April!” He squeaked. “I’m almost done with the microwave.” He sat back down at the counter. “What did you and Irma DO to this thing, anyway?” 

April laughed. 

“Well, Irma read about these make-it-yourself facial masks, and we just had to try them. I guess we got a little carried away with heating the ingredients. Something about 50% power for 45 minutes, then 85% for 20 seconds, I don’t know.” 

Don grinned. “I’ll never understand the beauty standards of humans, I guess. No special clay mask can fix this.” He gestured to his face. 

April smirked at him, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously. “Trust me, Donatello, you’re fine just the way you are.” And with that, she sauntered back into her bedroom to get dressed.

Donatello’s throat felt dry as he finished closing up the microwave. 

He looked at the clock. Oh, it was nearly 6! April’s date was set to pick her up any minute. 

“Uh, April-!” He called through her closed bedroom door. “I’m done out here, is that guy gonna come to the door?”

“Oh, yeah. He should be here soon. I hope you don’t mind hiding in the guest bedroom?” 

“Hehe. No problem, that’s my M.O. as a ninja.” He called. 

“Donatello, you’re so funny.” She giggled.

She couldn’t see him through the door, but it was just as well. He could feel that his cheeks were pink. 

He packed up his tools and carefully wiped down the counter, just in case he left any sewer grime. Then he walked back down the hallway to the guest bedroom. 

He still had a few things to fix up while April was out on her date, but she’d told him he could spend the night and promised him a couple of pizzas all to himself and a fridge packed with sodas just for him. She’d also stocked the cabinets with a few bags of chips and candy in case he wanted to watch a movie while she was out. He’d glanced in the fridge earlier and was delighted to see two big pizzas waiting there. All he’d have to do is reheat them in the oven. 

It made him feel special. April never invited just Michelangelo, or Raphael, or Leonardo to spend the night. And she probably wouldn’t trust those three in the apartment, anyway! Sure, they all had a rocky start when they first hid in her apartment a few years ago, but April had come to understand Donatello was capable of repairing and fixing anything. The others would just make a mess of things, like they had the first time. 

Don felt like his chest would burst with pride. Their best human friend, a grown woman, a professional, trusted HIM with looking after her apartment. He imagined how jealous Michelangelo would be if he knew Donatello got two pizzas to himself. And Raphael and Leonardo would fall over if they’d seen her kiss his finger “better,” or if they saw how nice she’d made up the guest bed just for him. And Master Splinter would probably be proud of Donatello for becoming so well acclimated to the human world. 

Donatello set his tools down and closed the door behind him so he’d be hidden, just in case April’s date came into the apartment. He knew the drill, and it wasn’t anything personal; Donatello didn’t want to have to explain why a 5ft tall little turtle person was walking around April’s apartment, either.

He flopped down on the bed, sighing happily. The sheets smelled like lavender and air freshener, and nothing rotten or decaying like in his room at home. He’d probably have a good night’s sleep, too, either on April’s cushy and soft couch while watching a movie, or in this nice bed that she prepared with fresh sheets just for him. He rolled on his side, smelling the fresh scent of the pillow and smiling happily, closing his eyes.

Don must have dozed off for a few minutes. It was dark in the room, but he could see a light on under the door. He opened the door carefully, and peered out. The hallway was empty, and the lights were all on in the apartment. April must’ve left with her date. He padded quietly into the kitchen, and looked at the clock. 7:30pm. 

“Ah, I guess it’s time for my dinner,” He said to himself. He liked the sound of that- “my” dinner. As in, he wouldn’t have to fight for a slice of pizza, or worry about the pizza being dropped on the dirty floor, or worry about Michelangelo having eaten all of it. (The orange-clad turtle had, after all, been known to hide in the cabinets.)

No, Donatello could eat his dinner in peace for once, in a clean kitchen, with no one to bother him. Humming happily to himself, he pulled the pizzas out of the fridge and preheated the oven. 

“Oh…and CLEAN baking sheets and pans, too. This place is heaven,” Don chirped.

He heard the sound of breaking glass, and nearly dropped the pan.

He whirled around and grabbed his bo. It would be just his luck that his night would be ruined by foot soliders or Shredder…

Another loud clatter alerted him to the source of the sound- it was coming from April’s closed bedroom door.

The sound of glass crunching against the tile floor of the bathroom meant that whatever it was, Don could get the jump on it by entering the bedroom and cornering it in the bathroom…

He threw open the door and jumped in, taking a defensive stance. He came face to face with April, and nearly knocked her off her feet. 

“A-April! What are you doing still home?” 

She didn’t answer him right away. Donatello was shocked by her appearance; she was wearing a skin-tight black dress with high heels, her hair was messed up and sticking out in strange angles due to the hairspray’s hold, and her makeup was smeared, especially around her eyes where she’d been crying. She was wearing so much eyeliner and mascara, and red lipstick instead of her usual light pink, that Don found her appearance almost frightening. 

“April?”

“Mmm…Donatelloo…” She slurred. 

Don wrinkled his beak. Her breath smelled horrible. 

“What happened, are you alright?” Don tried to steady her as she swayed.

“…I got stood up…Go to the club, I’ll meet you therrre… he says. Then I go to the club, and he’s with some other girl…!”

“T-that’s terrible! Ah… April, I’m so sorry.” Don helped her into the kitchen. “Stay here, I’ll go clean the bathroom.”

Don rushed back into April’s room and was shocked at the mess she’d made; the glass breaking sound was a bottle of alcohol. He wasn’t familiar with cocktails or anything like that, but he could tell it was pretty strong stuff by the smell. He gathered the glass shards carefully with a towel and dumped them into her wastebasket. He checked under the sink and found some cleaning supplies. 

He finished wiping the floor and headed towards the kitchen to get a trashbag. 

His way was blocked by a figure standing in the doorway. April was standing there, her shoes having been kicked off. She leaned against the doorframe. 

“Um, are you alright?” He asked, frozen in place. He was taken aback by April’s disheveled appearance, and she was beginning to scare him with the way she stood between him and the kitchen. 

“I can’t tell you…how glad I am that you’re here, Donatello. It’s…good not to be alone on a night like this…” She murmured. 

“Um…yeah, yeah, I guess so. I’m… I’m really sorry about your date.” 

April snorted. “You’re always acting so maturrre.” 

“T-thank you,” Don answered, his voice choked and tight. “Um, I need to get some trashbags so I can finish cleaning up the bathroom…” 

April shrugged one of her shoulders and let her dress strap slide down her arm. 

“That can wait…I should probably give you a reward since you’ve been sushh a good boy.”

Donatello balked as April pulled the front of her dress down, and her breasts spilled out. She wore a cleavage revealing jumpsuit regularly, but Donatello never imagined he’d ever see her bare breasts. 

“Ah! A-April, your dress-!” He hid his eyes. 

Her voice suddenly sounded a lot closer. “What, you don’t like what you see?”

Don trembled. He could smell her perfume, the alcohol on her breath. “Ah…n-no, it’s not that, I just… I don’t think this is…” When he looked up, she was inches away from him, her bare breasts thrust in his face. He backed away. 

April was nearly 7 inches taller than him, and she seemed taller than ever in the dim light. Don was frightened. 

“Sooo…” April stepped closer to him, as though using her bare chest as a weapon to drive him backwards and deeper into her bedroom. Don could see the kitchen through the doorway, which was further and further away as she pushed herself towards him.

He flinched, trying to keep his eyes on her shoulder or her neck. He was afraid to look at her breasts, but he was also afraid to look at her face. This wasn’t the April he was familiar with.

“You really don’t like what you see? Are you sure…?” 

His shell bumped against April’s dresser, and he tried to squeeze around her, to escape to the door. A critical mistake; he should’ve gone to the left. Instead, he went to the right, and as the back of his knees hit her bed, she lunged at him.

Donatello fell back onto her bed, and she pressed her body down over him. His face was nearly buried in her chest, and he desperately tried to avoid making contact with her bare skin.

“The other boys would be drooling over this, y’know…” Her tone changed. She was practically growling. “I know you’re all probably jerkin’ off to thoughts of me, right? C’mon, admit it…” 

“A-April, please-!” Don cried. He tried to roll onto his side, but she covered his whole body, trapping him on his carapace. His only escape would involve kicking her or punching her, and he…couldn’t bring himself to do it.

She was half-naked! She was drunk, and vulnerable. He couldn’t attack her. That would be against everything Master Splinter ever taught him.

April rubbed her breasts against his beak. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the feeling of her warm skin against him, trying to ignore the scent of her perfume. 

“No…” He whimpered. 

“Oh, please. Cut the crap,” She gasped, squeezing one of her breasts and pushing an erect nipple against his lips. “Even if some jerkoff stock broker wants a younger hussy, I know you turtles still think I’ve got the goods.” 

He barely heard what she was saying. His pulse thrummed in his ears, and the sensation of her nipple against his lips was sickening. He never wanted anything less in his life.

“Mmm-mm.” He shook his head weakly from side to side, keeping his mouth pressed tightly closed. 

She pulled back, putting all of her weight on his plastron as she straddled him…and slapped him. 

“Agh!” He yelped. Her hand cracked him across the cheek once, and then she punched him in the snout. If he wasn’t lying on a soft bed, he likely would’ve been knocked out from the force of the blow. It was vicious and raw.

He opened his eyes timidly, looking up at her as she straddled him, both hands pressing down on his chest. 

She was crying. 

“Do you know how hard it is to find anyone…anyone who’s not intimidated by my career?” Her voice broke. “Double standards. Double standards completely control my life…I thought YOU at least understood.”

“I…I do…” Don gasped, holding his beak. 

"If you...Understood me, then, you wouldn't act so repulsed by me..." April sobbed, her breaths ragged and still reeking of alcohol.

TBC.


	2. The Prize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ ABOUT '87 APRIL ACTING HORRIBLE AND MANIPULATIVE, DON'T READ THIS. This chapter also contains unsafe sex practices and RAPE, and Internalized Homophobia.
> 
> Disclaimer: Donatello's thoughts in this chapter are HIS OWN. It is NOT the writer's commentary on the situation. 
> 
> April gives Donatello his prize.

Don stared up at April, who was completely undone in front of him. He was so confused… he’d never seen her act this way. He’d seen her upset about losing a good story, or angry over some kind of work kerfluffle…or hell, even panicking if they were in a bad situation with Shredder or his minions… but he’d never seen her drunk, and sobbing…or making such strange comments.

“Admit it… at least just tell me…you must’ve thought about me like THIS at least once.” She slurred, cupping her breasts.

He felt exposed.

It was as if she’d noticed his blushing from earlier that afternoon, or could read his mind. Had he wanted this? What if this really was what he had been hoping for all along…?

_Michelangelo was probably the most obvious about finding April attractive. He made suggestive jokes from time to time, calling her a babe and even making a crack about “going around” with April when he’d caught her and spun on his carapace. Donatello knew that his brothers probably did some self-exploration from time to time. He was often in his lab while they were sleeping, but he’d heard the occasional tell-tale groans or creaking of the bunk beds._

_Donatello had explored his own body a few times. Curiosity and teenage hormones lead to him stroking his lower plastron until the cartilage softened and spread open, as it did when he had to urinate. He’d read about turtle anatomy, but he found that their mutations didn’t give them cloaca openings in their tails. His genitals were tucked behind his front shell, and only came out if he needed to urinate or if he felt those strange aches._

_His first couple of times touching his penis until it got hard were awkward. He stopped when he felt that strange pressure building in his lower abdomen. His tail had started to ache, and he got scared. He thought he’d hurt himself._

_He’d stroked himself to orgasm once or twice, but it was ruined by his feelings of confusion and guilt…and fear that the stiffening and straining of the muscles in his tail meant that he’d hurt his backside somehow. And if he was completely honest about what he thought of… his mind wandered to vague images and memories. But never April or even Irma for that matter. He knew Michelangelo kept a magazine in his room that had photos of human women in swimsuits, and Raphael sometimes whistled and made remarks when those sexy women’s clothes commercials came on TV. Leonardo acted funny around Lotus, and it was pretty obvious that Leonardo felt “that way” towards her, even if he denied it._

_No. Donatello thought about… well, more familiar things. That one time Leonardo had pinned Raphael to the mat during sparring exercises, and Donatello spied Raphael’s untucked tail for a brief moment. And he couldn’t help himself, but his brain wandered to the sight of Michelangelo’s hands and forearm muscles straining as he gripped his nunchucks, or a stray memory of the sweaty, tangy scent of the others when they’d completed a difficult workout. He was too afraid to think about what that might mean._

_Donatello had started to ask the others about it, but he stopped himself when he remembered how much they’d teased him just for messing up his own inventions. If they thought he was that stupid for sometimes (okay, many times) messing up things that the team actually needed, they’d think he was an even bigger idiot for messing up his own body. And what if the others didn’t do that? God, what if the others found out he thought about muscles and tails and sweat instead of soft women in bathing suits? He’d be even more ostracized for being a pervert._

The sensation of April’s breath on his face snapped him back into the present moment.

“Hehe…” she purred. “How does this work, huh?” She snaked her hand between them and began stroking Donatello’s crotch. She was clumsy, and he bit his lip as she pushed her fingers indelicately under the rim of his lower plastron.

Her hand rubbed over the nerve endings there, and he flinched when he felt the blood rush to his lower abdomen. 

“A-ah! April, d-don’t…” He cried. He squirmed beneath her, which only seemed to encourage her more. 

“Hmmm…?” She hummed. “I like to call that ‘playing hard to get.’” Her soft, feminine voice sent shivers up his spine as she continued to rub at his crotch. He used to find her voice comforting… now it terrified him. This was a total bastardization of the affection he craved from her. She pouted her lips playfully, the smeared red lipstick visible in the dim light; she looked like a Picasso painting of herself, several layers of distortion over her usual pretty face. “Give yourself a little tiny bit of credit, for once, Donatello.” 

Tears stung his eyes as he groaned, and his penis emerged, semi-erect. Her fingers played over the shaft, and she squeezed him. He yelped, half in pain, half from the unexpected pleasure of someone else’s hand gripping him. 

April giggled. “Or… should I say, give yourself a ‘bigger-than-expected’ helping of credit?”

“Y’know, I wouldn’t just let ANY of the boys see me like this…even though I’m sure sweet Michelangelo’s thought of it.” She slurred, fondling one of her breasts as she continued to squeeze and rub his penis. “Consider this your ‘thank you’ for being such a sweetheart.”

“…I-I don’t…” Don choked. He wanted to tell her to stop. He wanted to tell her he didn’t like this. He wanted to tell her that it wasn’t what he wanted as a ‘Thank you.’ 

…but what if April took that personally? She was doing this for him. She’d been so sad and so broken just moments before… but she seemed happier, now.

He felt a deep ache in his heart. He did care about her. He cared about April a lot… maybe even the most out of all the turtles. Did he want this?

What if April stopped being friends with him? 

With the team? 

What if they lost their only good connection to the human world? 

And…even if she didn’t stop speaking with the team, what if April started to think Donatello was just as inept as the others did? 

Could he put it gently?

“Y-you don’t have to…” He squeaked. April twisted her palm around his shaft, and his pleas were drowned out by a strangled sound in his throat.

“This is mutual,” She spat. “You wanted this, and don’t think I didn’t notice you getting all flustered over me before.” 

She said “You wanted this” like Donatello had wished for her death or set her apartment on fire.

Donatello remembered how inwardly pleased he had been when she kissed his finger. How proudly he smirked when they were all on that ski trip together, and he’d received a kiss on the cheek from April AND Irma right in front of the other turtles. 

He… maybe he DID want this. 

What did he think he was hoping for? He was an idiot if he thought he could be loved by April as a mother figure. Maybe this was the sordid, naughty thing he’d really wanted all along.

And she knew. April knew about his embarrassing secret.

April kept his penis tightly gripped in her hand, and sidled her body back so she was straddling his legs. She looked at his penis, not hiding her bewilderment. 

“So, is this what you ALL look like down there?” 

“I…don’t know…I’ve never- AGH!” Donatello yelped when she placed her hot mouth over the head. 

“Mm…it’s been a while since I gave anyone head,” She murmured. “I’m a little out of practice, but you’re in for a treat.” 

“S-stop…” 

She ignored him, and lapped at the slit. The warm, wet feeling of her tongue on his cock made him feel sick, but it was also the most pleasurable physical sensation he’d ever experienced. He felt like a bolt of lightning had hit him, and he was tingly all over.

Don’s hips bucked, and he inadvertently pushed his penis up away from her mouth, tapping her on the nose. 

“Agh! I-I’m sorry—I--!” He cried, trying to pull away from her. It was too much.

She dug her nails into his thigh, and squeezed his dick in a vice grip with her hand. He cried out in pain, but she lapped at the head of his penis one more time and chuckled when his pained yelp turned into another groan.

“I always wondered if you were gay or something,” She slurred. 

Donatello flinched, his eyes going wide. He searched her face, wondering if she knew about that, too.

Oh, god. She knew all of his secrets. His perverted, twisted fascination with getting closer to her… his …thoughts when he’d touched himself. 

“But you’re making such cute little noises…I’m glad I’m making you so hot.” 

“You’re…not! You’re not, agh…I’m sorry—“

“Shuddup!” She slurred. 

April cracked her palm across his face again, and Donatello saw stars. He strained his neck, trying to push his head back deeper into the soft bed, cowering from her. He hated himself for whimpering.

She climbed off of his legs, and reached over towards her bedside table drawer, rifling around inside for something.

Donatello finally saw his chance to escape. He felt dizzy, and his legs were completely asleep from her weight pressing down on them, but he managed to roll onto his side.

April saw him attempting to move away, and put her hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry I yelled,” She said, softly. She gave him a reassuring squeeze. For a moment, it felt like the April Donatello knew. “We’ll figure this out together, okay?” 

He hesitated. 

“Figure…? A-april, you’re acting so weird, I’m scared,” His voice got caught in his throat. Donatello turned to look at her over his shoulder. He felt tears welling up, but he was terrified to cry in front of her, maybe even more than he was to cry in front of the others.

“Shhh, it’s okaayy,” she cooed. “I’m going to make it all better, alright?”

Donatello didn’t say anything. He was relieved he wouldn’t have to run away, or worse, use force against her. This wasn’t ideal, but maybe things could still be okay…

April gently guided his body down onto the bed. As soon as he was on his back again, his hands shot down to protect his flaccid penis. Her saliva and his pre-cum over the head were already cooling in the chilly air conditioning of her apartment. 

She saw how fearful he was, and gently caressed his face, ignoring how Donatello flinched when her hand got close to him. She kissed his cheek where she’d hit him. 

“You and I are really a lot alike…I’ve kind of always thought that, but now I know.” 

“Y-you do?” Donatello whimpered. He was still afraid that she would say something else to imply she knew about his strange thoughts.

“I’m just so fed up with trying to live a life outside of my job, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t harder at times because of…well,” She smirked. “…because of you fellas.” 

Don thought about the times he had dreamt of giving up being a ninja, and dedicating his time to studying. _If only he’d been human. He could’ve gone to college, for real, instead of getting a degree through the mail. He would’ve probably had a decent job by now._

“I… I don’t always want to do those things, y’know… the ninja turtle things.” Donatello offered, meekly. His voice wavered. 

“It’s pretty obvious, Donatello. I think even Michelangelo expects you to turn tail sometimes,” April laughed. She sighed, the alcohol still on her breath. “Look at us, we just don’t want what we’ve been dealt.” 

Donatello said nothing. His mind raced. 

Had he been obvious about not wanting to be a ninja? Was it so obvious that even the person he often had to save could tell? 

April understood him… on the other hand, it meant she saw him for what he was: A coward. 

“I thought I was giving you a good time tonight, but…” She pulled her dress back up. “Maybe I should just face it; I’m only good for being a pretty face on tv…at least until my looks fade. I guess it’s happening already, huh?” She sniffled. 

Don was hit with a pang of guilt. 

_He’d completely misunderstood her intentions… She really DID want to show him a token of her appreciation. And she was hurt by that guy cheating on her…_

_Donatello was relieved to know that April had GOOD REASON for acting the way she had towards him; he’d really been inconsiderate. Good. He’d probably imagined the weirdness between them. He knew some addults drank alcohol, this was probably not unusual human behavior. He was privileged that April trusted him to see her like this._

_He was only a turtle, after all. What did he really know about human society?_

_Maybe Donatello had misread the whole situation._

“N-no, April, you’re really pretty! I can tell, even other humans think you’re pretty! A-and you’re smart, and nice…” He sat up, feeling a little more like his old self, too. He could fix this.

“Aw, you’re sweet,” April leaned in, and Donatello willed himself not to flinch. He didn’t want to hurt her again, not like earlier. She kissed him on the mouth, and all Donatello could think was that he was so lucky, and the others weren’t.

The next thing Donatello knew, she was tightening a nylon strap around his wrist, and fastened the other end around the bedpost. 

“W-what’re you doing?” He gasped, still breathless from the kiss. 

He reached over to grab the strap, and April caught his wrist in her hand. She slipped another nylon strap over it and fastened it to the other post. 

“Honestly, I think it takes a really strong man to give up control,” She purred. “I hope you’re not thinking this is weird, or gross…it’s adult stuff…” She murmured, apologetically.

She waited, searching his face for a reaction.

Donatello battled it out with himself inside. Some part of his brain wanted to scream, “Yes, lady! You’ve lost your mind! I’m leaving now!” 

The other side… the side that was trying not to be a coward, or inept, the side that wanted to believe April was his only true friend in the world… 

_The other side won._

“N…no,” He whispered. 

“Mmm…Donatello, you’ve always been my favorite.” She cooed. “Thank you for being my hero.” 

The rest of what followed was inscribed in some part of Donatello’s _(massive, thank you very much)_ brain. 

But he remembered mostly staring at the ceiling. 

The lights of the Manhattan skyline cast long window frame shadows on the opposite wall, and the rectangular shapes were yellowish orange.

She straddled him again, and he found it difficult to breathe. 

His mouth filled with the taste of something salty and indescribably tangy.

The rectangular light casted on the ceiling sometimes rippled, and Donatello distinctly wondered if there was a light shining down on a puddle below her apartment. The refraction must’ve been a rare result for it to be reflected just right from building to building to glass plane for it to make its way unadulterated into her room. 

Donatello was urged on by her breathless voice, and he remembered sticking his tongue out and his cheeks being crushed by her thighs as she screamed.

The sound scared him. He didn’t like hearing her like that.

Her pubic hair rubbed against his beak, tickling him.

She put her full weight on his face, and he thought he would pass out or suffocate.

April had a crack in the plaster on her ceiling. 

Donatello wondered if the construction of the building was from the 1930’s, which might explain why there was a faint remnant of pressed tin on some of the ceilings in that building. 

He could breathe again, but she was playing with his penis, and his breathing quickened.

She said something to him about his penis being soft. 

The way she said it reminded him of Leonardo. 

“Your backflip is sloppy.”

“At least build something useful in battle!” 

He wondered if the crack in the plaster was due to water damage. He hoped not.

As if water damage was really part of his concerns, being a turtle who lived in a damp sewer.

She popped open a tube of something.

He heard sirens in the distance. Was it on the Jersey side of the river? 

Maybe it was something going down at that old warehouse, the one at the corner of Eastman and Laird.

Cold, slick fingers pushed under his tail. 

Another ripple distorted the yellowish orange light patterns on the ceiling, and Don wondered if it was raining.

There was a buzzing noise, and April pushed something inside him.

She giggled when he started writhing, and he wanted to tell her to take it out, because it hurt.

The crack in the plaster was probably about 10” long, but it was jagged. 

It could be from leakage further up, probably April’s upstairs neighbor’s bathroom.

She pushed it in him deeper, and his anus stung from the size of the object.

Somewhere far away, he could hear April telling him proudly that his dick was so big. That it was so hard. 

The doorframe had a piece of molding missing from the upper right corner. 

April ignored his pleas, and pushed the rigid, vibrating thing deeper, then pulled it back out and shoved it in again and again, more forcefully each time.

He heard himself crying out, and moaning. 

Her other hand gripped his penis.

Donatello wondered if that chip in the doorframe molding had been there before April moved in, or if it had been a result of Raphael’s target practice the very first night they’d all spent inside her apartment. 

April shoved the thing inside him again, recklessly in her drunken state, and he felt his lubed opening swallow it up completely. 

The back end of it pushed against his anus from inside.

He remembered panicking and squirming as best he could with his arms tied, but she just shrugged.

“Oops.”

When he saw her stupid, drunk smile looming over him, he turned his attention to the doorframe, the ceiling, and the shadows on the ceiling again.

She made that very difficult. 

His memory of the lights on the ceiling from outside were tainted from that point on with her auburn hair, her shoulder, and sometimes her hands obscuring the view.

A searing hot, slick grip enveloped his penis.

He heard April grunting, faster and faster, like some kind of ape from a nature show.

He could barely breathe from the force of April pushing up against his chest.

The crack on the ceiling seemed to move and writhe, but Donatello knew it was his eyes playing tricks on him in the dim light.

His groin felt hot, and he tightened every muscle in his body and cried out.

The ceiling faded in and out of focus, so that the crack looked like a gray blur.

The rigid thing came flying out of his ass, landing on April’s bedspread with a wet pop, still buzzing. 

Cold air on his flaccid penis again as April sat up.

He heard April cursing and something about having to wash her comforter.

Then he remembered that the doorframe molding couldn’t have been damaged by Raphael’s sai, because Raphael had been in the living room most of that evening.

His wrists hurt, rubbed raw.

After a night of studying the ceiling, Donatello made his way back to the guest bedroom, grabbing his bo from the kitchen where he’d left it.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
When he woke up, Donatello was in the guest bed, and he smelled pancakes wafting in from the kitchen, heard the faint sound of a radio program.

“Was that a dream?” He murmured to himself, sitting up. 

The pain in his backside, and the bruising on his face told him otherwise.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about italicizing parts of the rape, where it switched back and forth between Don trying to zone out and what April was doing, but I decided to keep it plain so it is even more similar, and the reader kind of experiences the same disorienting thought process as Don. 
> 
> If it's not clear during that bit, basically April forced Donatello to give her oral sex, then penetrated Don with one of her lubed up vibrators/dildos, and forcibly sat on his penis for penis in vagina penetration. Yes, it is lucky that the vibrator came out on its own when Don orgasmed. I felt like this bit was kind of harsh, but I wanted to show how April treated him like a plaything.


	3. A Lucky Dude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's the harm in letting them all believe he's really just a lucky dude?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Please heed all of the warnings on this story. This third chapter delves into his memories some more, so the traumatic bits are NOT over and includes internalized Homophobia, and some are described in more detail. I'd also like to point out that I wrote this with the idea that it's set in the late 80's/early 90's, so the characters' behavior and attitudes towards certain subjects are based a little bit on how people thought of those things back then; things were still quite backwards in regards to sexuality and consent, gender dynamics, etc. even in the early 90's. The turtles' reactions to Donatello's experience reflect that.
> 
> Thanks for waiting for this last chapter. I got busy with commissions and other work, so I had to wait a little before finishing.

"A Lucky Dude"

Donatello didn’t even remember getting back to the guest bedroom. He doubted April could carry him herself, especially in her drunken state. Gingerly, he lifted a hand to his face. It felt sticky, dried sweat clung to his mask, and his cheek felt tender… so he hadn’t dreamt how April…how his face was sore from being hit. He’d fallen asleep with his mask on. His gear was still on.

He was afraid to pull the sheets down, afraid to see what might be on the sheets beneath him. His heart pounded and he looked around for his bo—there it was, on the floor by the foot of his bed. That’s odd, he thought, he’d never put his bo on the floor so carelessly.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Donatello pulled the sheets down and carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed. The fitted sheet beneath him stuck to his upper thighs and buttocks, and he winced as he felt a stinging beneath his tail.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and then got to his feet.

He knew he couldn’t just stay there. He had to get on with it, so he could leave and get home again.

Home.

Back to the sewers. Back to his brothers.

Back to his life as a mutant turtle.

He opened his eyes and looked down at the fitted sheet and mattress before him, and was mortified to discover what looked like a clear viscous liquid, dried blood, and a small amount of what looked like…

_“Ugh! I’m going to have to launder these sheets…” April groaned, glaring down at the mess between Don’s legs as the thing buzzed away, touching his thighs._

A flood of hot shame tinged his cheeks. He was too old to have accidents. And he knew he wasn’t ill, so that ruled out digestive tract issues.

That could only mean that the pain in his backside really WAS from April putting something inside him.

But the scent of pancakes still drifted in from the kitchen, telling him that he was on the clock. Someone was awake, and that someone probably wanted him gone.

He balled up the sheets and stuffed them into a heap in the middle of the bed. He’d write April a note apologizing for leaving the sheets like that; she’d always appreciated how considerate Donatello was compared to the others.

But before that, he needed to wash himself; He looked down at himself and was further ashamed to see the traces of dried fluids on his lower plastron, flaking. He… he must’ve ejaculated in his sleep. That’s what he reasoned, anyway. He pushed fleeting bits and pieces of memory from the night before down deep.

He didn’t want to think about how the fluids on his front smelled different from his own scent.

He didn’t want to think about how sore his anus or the slit housing his cock felt.

Stealthily, he ran into the smaller bathroom at the end of the hall, and shut the door as quietly as possible.

His shower was a blur. He didn’t know how long he was in there, but the feeling of the hot water running over his skin and shell distracted him from the scent of pancakes and the sight of those stains on the sheets and… all of those structural problems with April’s ceiling he’d noticed the night before. He used his hands to scrub himself with soap; he didn’t want to soil the towels or washcloths April had so kindly put in the guest bathroom for him. He didn’t want April to think any less of him than she probably already did.

_I’ve made a mess in the bed, I’m a mess myself, and now I’m keeping April waiting while she’s probably making me a nice breakfast… agh. What is wrong with me? Why can’t I just have things go right?_

Leonardo scolded him for missing practice.

Raphael snorted and laughed with Michelangelo as one of his inventions broke down yet again.

Master Splinter admonished him for having too much confidence in his machines instead of his instincts as a ninja. He’d been sat down on the tatami in front of his Master yet again after he’d lied about the Turtle Van being in good working order.

He was covered in grease from the engine as he listened to Master Splinter tell him what a GOOD ninja would have done.

…and then he’d left a stain on the tatami mat from his grimy legs anyway, and had to spend the next day trying to clean it while the others had a movie marathon without him.

_And now I’m trying to clean off my disgusting body because I can’t even control what my hormones make me do in my sleep… Is my penis sore because I was masturbating? In April’s apartment? What’s wrong with me?_

_Why can’t I just be “normal” for once?_

Donatello couldn’t tell if the hot liquid running down his cheeks was the shower water or his own tears.

The band-aid April had placed on his finger the evening before loosened, soggy with water, and he threw it in the waste basket.

He dried off, and put his gear back on. He wrinkled his nose at the smell. He’d have to wash his gear when he got back to the sewer.

He barely felt the carpet beneath his feet as he walked down the hall to the kitchen.  
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw April’s bedroom door, which was closed.

April was there at the table, drinking some coffee. She was in her fluffy bathrobe, clean-faced. She looked up at him and smiled.

“Hey, sleepy head. I made you some pancakes.”

Donatello stood there for a moment staring at her; the person there at the table was April O’Neill. She didn’t have dark rings around her eyes or streaks of running mascara or red lipstick smeared around her mouth.

“Hello? Donatello? I made you pancakes, don’t you want some?”

Don bit his lip, timidly sitting down at the table.

“Y-yeah, that sounds really good. Mm, they smell tasty. Thanks…April.”

“You didn’t eat any of the treats I got for you last night, so,” April winked at him, pulling out a bag of candy. “Whaddya say to pancakes and chocolate candy bars for breakfast?”

Donatello felt his throat close up.

“Um, well, I’d be okay with just coffee and pancakes…”

April placed a big plate stacked high with pancakes and butter and maple syrup in front of him. She poured him a cup of coffee, and set it down along with a few candy bars. “What, is that not on the Ninja Pizza Diet? I won’t tell Master Splinter if you won’t.” She said with a giggle.

Donatello was too uncomfortable to say anything, so he picked up the fork and began to eat some of the pancakes. They felt dry and gummy in his mouth, and he tried to drink some coffee to wash them down. He burned his tongue.

“A-April,” He coughed. He cleared his throat, idly stirring the fork prongs through the maple syrup and butter on his plate. “Um… l-last night...” He began.

April had been watching him across the table. He couldn’t read her face; it looked like it usually did—kind, with a small smile playing on her lips. But now, he was trying to decide what that meant. What kind of smile was that?

She cut him off. “Last night would’ve been just awful if it wasn’t for you. Thanks for helping out so much around the apartment.”

He stared at her. Wasn’t she still mad? About the sheets? A-about… about the broken glass he’d been trying to clean up? About her date ditching her?

“N…no, it was nothing, but really, uh, that was kind of…”

Donatello stopped, his mind racing.

April was one of the only human friends he had. That THEY had. Well, he doubted he could count Vernon as a friend, and Irma was always pre-occupied with some kind of romantic trouble when she wasn’t being unwittingly used in a scheme of Shredder’s… Well, what kind of dark, dreary world would Donatello and the others be facing if they didn’t have April to be their advocate?

What kind of dark, hopeless world would Donatello have if he was the REASON for the others not being close to April anymore?

He felt stripped of everything in an instant.

How could he ask her if last night really happened the way he…thought it did?

“…I was… it kind of made me feel a little sca—“

“Donatello,” April’s tone was harsh, dripping with the same disdain she oozed with last night.

He froze.

“I don’t think we should discuss those…events,” April began. “I know you feel guilty about what you did, but I forgive you. All I ask is that you don’t make things worse by dwelling on it.”

“W-what?” His voice sounded small. He was still holding the fork. He couldn’t move. “I-I wasn’t… I wasn’t trying to dwel—“

“I wish you had more faith in our friendship,” She continued, her voice dipping into a low, gentle coo. As if she was calming a panicking animal. “When you overthink things like that, it makes it hard for me to feel like we’ve got a strong bond.”

The syrup taste still lingering on his burnt tongue made him feel sick.

She reached across the table and touched his hand, gently caressing it.

“I’ve got a meeting today, it’s pretty important…well, according to Burne, anyway,” She rolled her eyes, doing her best imitation of a disgruntled teenager as she looked at him knowingly; as if he’d agree with her. Yeah, Burne, what a drag. “You understand, right? I’m a little busy.”

Donatello’s mind raced. She was trying to tell him to leave.  
He was always trying to understand how to function well in the presence of humans. He was always trying to understand how he could show her he was more mature than the others.

“Oh. Oh, yeah, of course…” He forced himself to drop the fork and picked up his coffee, drinking the bitter liquid down.

He didn’t dare ask her for sugar, she’d already given him so much more than he usually had for breakfast.

_This might be the last time I get to eat on such a clean table without wearing a disguise._

He placed the cup on the table with the barest hint of a shaky hand.

“I…I’ll get going now… um…” He couldn’t meet her eye as he got up from the table, grabbing his bo. “…I’m sorry about the sheets…in my room—in the guest room…”

He didn’t bother to look to see if April looked puzzled or disgusted. He quickly walked from the kitchen and opened the window to the fire escape in the living room.

“Wait! Don’t you want to take some of this back to the boys?” April called, picking up some of the candy from the table.

“No, thanks!” He blurted out, crawling through the window and jumping onto the side of the fire escape railing.

Donatello ignored the sounds of the city around him as he practically scrambled in a controlled fall down the sides of the fire escape levels beneath April’s apartment.

He missed the last railing and fell on his back in the alley with a thud.

Picking himself up and ignoring the pain in his lower body, he bolted to the nearest manhole and practically flung himself down into the darkness.

Only once he reached the bottom of the rusted and slimy rungs of the metal ladder and set foot on the familiar rough sewer brick did he let himself vomit, heaving with broken sobs onto the floor of the filthy sewer.

He must have wandered around the sewers for hours trying to decide what to do, what to think, because by the time he got back to the lair, the others were eating dessert in front of the TV after dinner.

He realized he hadn’t come to a conclusion when Raphael greeted him.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to come back from his sleepover.”

“Donatello, where have you been?! I called April on the shell-com and she said you left her apartment 5 hours ago!” Leonardo chided.

He was caught unprepared.

“Yeah, dude, you totally missed the weirdest ‘ON TRIAL’ episode yet!” Michelangelo laughed, cramming some marshmallow and chocolate pizza into his mouth.

“Oh… um. What was it about?” Donatello asked, his voice sounded monotone.

“Well, there was this lady who said she had a baby and the father was ACTION DUCK, but she’s totally, like delusional. That’s a cartoon character!” Michelangelo snorted. “It was like mondo crazy, the audience got into a fight with the guy who really WAS the father, and Clayton almost bought the farm trying to calm ‘em down!”

“Ah. Heh. Sounds funny.” Donatello replied, dragging his bo on the ground behind him as he walked towards his room. “Um, I’m gonna go to bed.”

“What’s with you? You hate Clayton, wouldn’t you’ve wanted to see him get roughed up?” Raphael quipped. “What, you spend one night topside and now you’re too good to watch trash TV with us?”

“N-no, that’s not it-!” Donatello protested. “I’m…I’m not feeling very well right now, that’s all.”

“Donatello, are you sick? Should I get Master Splinter?” Leonardo offered.

“No, well, I don’t think so… I just…” Donatello hesitated. His brothers did look curious. They looked genuinely concerned, and Leonardo didn’t seem too angry that he was gone for so long.

He couldn’t hold it in.

“…something…something weird happened last night,” He began.

The others were rapt with attention. Raphael muted the TV, then joined Michelangelo and Leonardo as they peered over the back of the couch at Donatello.

“I…um… well, April was acting really weird, and she was drunk, I think,” Donatello continued.

“What?! Donatello, is this going to be like those stories you told Zach?”* Leonardo groaned.

Donatello felt a twinge of anger surge through him. Suddenly, everything that had built up came out.

“No! I’m telling the truth. April WAS drunk, and she did some weird… some really weird things to me…” He felt his cheek where she’d struck him.

“…to my body.” He finished weakly.

“What do you mean, ‘weird things’ to your body?” Raphael sneered.

“S-she…hit me,” Donatello suddenly felt like he’d been transported back to last night. “A-and…” He stopped and looked at the three turtles staring open mouthed at him. “…she touched me and I…” He gestured vaguely to his abdomen.

He was afraid to say the rest out loud.

Staring at the floor, he was prepared for the others to… well, he wasn’t sure what he thought they’d say or do in reaction to that.

“Dude…” Michelangelo broke the long, awkward silence.

Donatello’s head shot up at the affection in Michelangelo’s voice.

“Dude, y’mean… she… you… like, y’mean you two did it?”

Donatello nodded, relieved that he wouldn’t have to tell them the rest. Things were fuzzy as it was in his memory, and he was afraid they’d be disgusted by him if they knew exactly what happened.

There was another moment of stunned silence as Donatello stared down at his feet.

“Whoa… whoa. Y’know what that means?” Michelangelo drawled, awestruck. “You’re like, the LUCKIEST TURTLE IN THE UNIVERSE.” He jumped over the back of the couch and grabbed Donatello, slapping him on the back.

The luckiest…what?

What?

“N-no, I’m… she-!” Donatello protested.

“Oh, man. Donatello’s the first one to score, I don’t believe this.” Raphael slapped his forehead.

“Wow. I gotta say, Donatello, I never thought you had it in you!” Leonardo grinned. “Does this mean April goes for brains over brawn, then?”

“It means something.” Raphael snapped, looking thoroughly jealous.

“No! No, you don’t understand, guys!”

“I’ll never look at you the same way,” Leonardo said, practically congratulating him. “I guess we should start treating you with a little more respect.”

“No! No, no!” Donatello yelled. “It’s not like that—I… I didn’t…”

_I didn’t want that. I didn’t want her to do that to me. I didn’t want her to hurt me. I didn’t want her to violate me._

“Ohhho, no way. She made the first move, then?” Raphael leaned forward on the back of the couch, looking at Donatello with eyes wide in wonder.

“Yes, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. She—she was the one who wanted it…” Donatello stammered.

_She was the one who hit me. She was the one who tied me down. She was the one who hurt me. And she was the one who…_

“I’ve never been so jealous of another turtle in my LIFE.” Raphael huffed, resting his head on his forearms as he stared up at Donatello.

Donatello was flabbergasted to see a glimmer of… respect? Admiration? In Raphael’s eyes.

“Aw, dude, you’ve gotta tell us the secret, how’d you manage to get her so… interested?” Michelangelo was so close, squeezing his shoulders.

Donatello was sure Michelangelo could smell April’s scent on his gear. He was so sure that Michelangelo would smell the dried cum and fluids on his plastron. And what if he noticed how gingerly he’d kept his tail tucked?

What if Michelangelo could tell that he was filthy?

Donatello lashed out, elbowing Michelangelo in the chest and pushing him away.

“D-Don’t! Don’t Touch me!” He yelped.

“Whoa, I think that’s the most aggressive you’ve ever been, buddy.” Raphael observed, still looking up at Donatello in wonderment, ignoring how Michelangelo winced in pain at the blow to his chest.

“Guys, don’t crowd Donatello, he’s had a busy night.” Leonardo admonished, sounding amused, barely able to contain his mirth.

Donatello knew he didn’t know any better… he couldn’t have known any better…

But the crass joking tone their leader used hurt.

“Y-yeah, that’s it… I’m really tired,” Donatello replied, feeling like a disgrace.

_…and I have to tell you guys that she really scared me, and nothing feels right, and my ass hurts, and I’m worried she did some damage to me because she was so, so rough._

The others just stared at him.

_And April pretended that everything was fine._

_And April was so kind to me even though I didn’t deserve it._

_I didn’t deserve those things she did to me, but I also didn’t deserve all of her kindness…_

_…and now I’m afraid to even look at her._

“I need to go to sleep, I’ll… maybe I’ll tell you more about it later,” Donatello said, his voice sounding smaller and further away the more he talked.

_And what did April say? That she forgives me._

_She forgives me… for what?_

_For being a disgusting, pathetic little turtle?_

_For being so awkward?_

_For taking up so much of her precious time and energy?_

_What if… What if I’m remembering it wrong?_

_What if I did something wrong?_

_What if I violated HER?_  
He looked at the others. The looks of awe and admiration in their faces broke his heart.

Donatello couldn’t remember the last time his brothers ever looked at him that way.

It had been years.

The last time…before they’d become tired of his ramblings… before they’d become bored with his inventions… before they began to expect less of him anyway…

It was when they’d first met April. It was when Donatello had saved the day with modifications to the old van. It was when he’d helped defeat Krang by working tirelessly on the blimp…by breaking the microchip inside the mechanical body.

It was so long ago.

Their affection and respect for him faded more and more with each passing day since that first big adventure together; with April.

The least he could do was let them hold onto their image of April.

Even HE couldn’t ruin that.

Even HE couldn’t take that away from his brothers.

Donatello turned away and ran to their bathroom, closing and locking the door.

As he washed himself again, letting the scalding water and soap soak his gear through, he couldn’t help but think that maybe he was being an idiot for feeling so…inept.

He coaxed his penis from his lower plastron, and dry heaved when he saw that the olive-green membrane at the base of his appendage was torn and swollen.

_”Oh, what’s this? Looks like you really want it, huh?” April ran her manicured fingers up and down his cock._

_“Pl-please stop…please stop,” He’d whimpered._

_She squeezed him and pulled at his dick, nails scratching the sensitive skin._

_When he cried out and thrashed his hips, too in pain to speak, she hit him again before stroking him to full hardness._

_“You want this, you want this, and I’ll give it to you,” She slurred, holding his dick with one hand as she sunk down on him. She let go and let her full weight rest on him, ignoring his cries of pain when the foreskin of his lower cock was pinched between his plastron and her body._

There were knocks on the door, and what he guessed was one of his brothers complaining about needing to use the toilet.

But Donatello would be damned if he let them in. They’d have to break down the door. Still, he surmised somewhere in his foggy mind that he’d have to hurry up so he wouldn’t be caught inspecting his body.

His disgusting, mutated body.

Only she’d ever wanted him “in that way.”

And she was drunk.

It was his fault for wanting her affection.

Donatello bit his lip, whimpering as he prodded his anus gently with a soaped up finger, his tail twinging with pain up and down the strained ligaments inside.

_”Mmm, experimentation is good for someone your age,” April purred. “I know how it feels to be sexually frustrated.”_

_She showed him the vibrator. It was a rigid, plastic thing, probably about 8 inches long._

_He squirmed, embarrassed. His flaccid cock, despite her yanking on him, must’ve been drunken April’s cue to try other tactics._

_“I-I don’t—y-you don’t have to show me things that you u-use…” He panted, trying again to loosen the cords biting into his wrists. But she sat between his knees, and pushed his legs up._

_“Y’know, if you are gay, it’s alright,” She hiccupped. “At least I can give you a taste of anal if that’s what you want.”_

_She’d looked down at him with such sympathy, like she pitied him. In the dim light reflected from outside, he could make out her glassy eyes._

_“Ngh…n-no, I don’t…I haven’t…t-thought about…I don’t want--” He tried to protest, to deny to her that he’d been curious about being penetrated, but he knew it was a lie. She’d discovered his secret. She must have known about his fantasies; how he could never tell his brothers that he didn’t use the same magazines or movies they did…_

_The memory was clearer in the shower. He remembered every second of her pushing the vibrator inside him, every terrible moment as she roughly fucked him with it, as the piece of plastic pushed too deep inside him…_

_As it hit something inside that made him harder than before._

_…As she took that as validation, as permission._

_…As, just before he managed to think about the ceiling and the cracks in the plaster again, she smirked and looked down at him like he was some kind of doll for her to play with._

_Then the disgust in her eyes and voice when the sheets were soiled by his body expelling the vibrator when he orgasmed._

He couldn’t really tell the others what had actually happened, could he?

Because April had told him not to dwell on it.

…Because April might tell them his secret.

…Because April seemed to know about Donatello’s secret thoughts of muscles and sweat and his brothers’ bodies twisted in combat…of Raphael’s tail as Leonardo pinned him to the mat…

And how could Donatello be sure that he hadn’t blurted out Raphael’s name when he was cumming? How could he trust his memories of the cracks in April’s ceiling, now that more and more things were becoming clear to him?

April was doing what she thought was a favor for Donatello, and she’d caused him this much pain.

What would his brothers and Master Splinter do to him if he took away the only good human friend they had?

What would they do to him if they knew he thought about those things when he was alone in his bed?

The water ran over their dingy, mold-ridden bathroom tile floor, now tinted pink with blood from what he suspected might have been trauma to his anus or rectum.

Donatello finally let himself cry as he rinsed himself off.

What was the harm in letting his brothers think he was a lucky dude?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * 1987: S3 e47 “The Missing Map” – strangely, Donatello lies about his achievements to impress Zach and his brother. I don’t know if there are any other instances of ’87 Donatello lying so freely, but it seemed like he was desperate to make Zach and his brother think he was cool. It's pretty pathetic and cringy! But it definitely fits the character profile of '87 Donatello being a little bit of a sad sack. 
> 
> Other little bits of references include the first season miniseries, "Turtles on Trial," and "Donatello's Bad Time" (or whatever, I just remember that he lied about the van and then got kidnapped by some random hillbilly characters) and I'd also just like to mention that I always found it very sad and melancholy that '87 Donatello expresses multiple times that he thinks life would've been better if they'd never been mutated. :,( That's... that's so sad. He also has some subtle but fairly consistent disdain for humans in general compared to his brothers, and he seems somewhat jealous/sad that he can't live as a human himself. I get the sense that he feels like "Well, if I can't enjoy being a ninja turtle OR getting a normal life like a human and succeeding in the human world as a scientist or inventor, I wish I could just not worry about any of that shit and wish I'd just been a normal turtle." 
> 
> Makes you wonder if '87 Donatello might not fucking snap one day. So that's part and parcel of why I felt this sort of awful thing could happen to him, and could somewhat explain his behaviors if you want to see them that way.
> 
> Second round of notes:  
> Again I'd like to stress that this is in no way intended to reflect what the author (me) feels is a healthy or correct way of dealing with rape and abuse, nor do I advocate any behaviors depicted in this story.
> 
> I'm a firm believer that fictional works do not tell the whole story about what someone believes/advocates/desires. This fic was written to both explore Donatello's character and as a coping mechanism. Thanks for reading. On a less serious note: No, I do not hate April or the other characters. XD

**Author's Note:**

> Strap in, Donatello is indeed in for a bumpy ride...
> 
> This was somewhat inspired by a remark a friend made about how '87 April seems, at times, kind of glib about her career and her own benefits from knowing the turtles. While I don't dislike April, it is interesting how sometimes she doesn't even try to hide her glee over benefitting somehow from the turtles' adventures, and she seems a little superficial. This fic captures that aspect of her '87 self, but I don't claim this is in any way a core part of her character.
> 
> While alcohol causes April to act strangely, I am in no way implying that she sexually assaults Don BECAUSE of the alcohol. It's merely a catalyst.


End file.
